They asked for: “Literally anything. Like, I don’t freaking care. Give me a purple dot on a yellow background and I will love it. Just do what you’re best at! I love all kinds of writing (stories, poems, songs, etc.) and any kind of art! And I will be impressed no matter what, because everyone on here is amazing.“
Well, this is a little more than a purple dot on a yellow background. I hope you enjoy Pansexual Ian Beale and Awkward Dreams.
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Normal sleep schedules didn’t suit you. With normal sleep came normal dreams instead of the half-lucid messes, throwing aspects of your mindscape with the dreamscape and Alcor was usually there to peek in eventually to make sure you weren’t too lost.
That is not what was going on right now. You rolled back over in bed for the fifth time, dozing in and out, dreams passing through like clouds drifting through a sunny sky. The same dream had started four times now and you were determined not to let Mira’s words get to you this deeply.
“So why do I keep coming home and finding you cuddling with Dipper?” the innocuous question had come one day over dinner, and he probably could have dodged it, except for the shade of red that engulfed his face. Without waiting for your answer Mira jumped on the reaction. “Ian Nathan Beale! Are you and… and…”
“No!” you stumble out. It’s just a… well…“ (“I wouldn’t make a deal with him if my life depended on it.” rang through your head. An old remark made, before you found out all you have.) “A deal. To. Help me sleep. Sometimes.”
Mira looks like she’s been rendered speechless. That’s. Different for her. When she finally speaks she laughs. “Well 12 times in two weeks seems like more than sometimes!” she told Ian, who found a way to turn a brighter shade of red.
“Well… that’s all it is, though!!” he repeated, a note of denial creeping into his voice and damn if Mira didn’t pick up on that too!! Your girlfriend was way too perceptive. You might as well be wearing a Neon Sign that said “I’m hopelessly attracted to your demon brother.”
Mira’s legs bounced up and down underneath the table. “You’re in love, Ian! Love love love love love!!!” You hide your emotions in a bite of potatoes as Mira goes on. “I haven’t seen you this bad since Fred Patterson from PoliSci!” all the blood in your body was going to be in your head soon and then you’d explode and die.
“I thought we agreed not to bring up Fred from PoliSci!!” you groaned. “Those were. Totally misinterpreted signals and. I made a total ass of myself so.”
Mira laughed, continuing on. “I can’t believe you are even considering Dipper.”
You sputter. “Considering?? That’s. not. the right.” now you’re at a loss for words. You, the literary master.
“So you are in love though.” Mira confirmed.
“Well it’s not like I’m laying awake at night thinking about him!! It’s just. A basic level of attraction that I’m. sure will go away. Given time.” you nod matter of factly and soon the conversation steers towards other topics and at least for now Mira files away the “Ian has a thing for my brother” footnote for a later date.
Well. To your credit. You are not laying awake thinking about Alcor the Dreambender, Dipper Pines. Instead you find yourself fluttering between awareness and sleep. One of you curled close to Mira in your bed, no longer facing scorch marks at the hands of abilities that were new and terrifying to you. The other… your stomach flips, a warm heat growing in your chest and no Ian you are not going to think too much about where this dream is going to be going.
Maybe you could just? Not sleep. tonight. But that would involve getting out of bed without Mira waking up. No, once you were in bed you were in it for the long haul. Even if that meant acutely detailed dreams of. Your stomach flips again, settling somewhere in your lungs as you finally slip fully asleep in the darkest hours of the night.
You’re on the couch. Awake. And he was still there. That was rare just by itself. Usually he’d slip out from under you, go find something else in the apartment to catch his attention, eat all your ice cream, go bug Mira… but he was still there. Asleep. He was asleep and you were awake, staring up at his peaceful, mostly human, face. The gentle rise and fall of his chest set you at ease as you pushed yourself upwards, closing your eyes as your lips brushed his and it felt magical.
Your eyes flutter open, and lock with his. You turn an equally magical shade of blush, starting to stumble back away from him before a hand twines through your hair and was the sound that just left your mouth yours? You sounded like a schoolgirl Ian get a grip but the only grip you seem to find is your arms draped over his shoulders as he gently guides you back down to him. Your lips meet again, and as you pull away for breath he kisses your pulse, trailing them up and down your neck and you swear you’re going to melt as you eyes slip shut.
And suddenly you’re aware. Of every minute detail. Of how your legs are straddling Alcor’s, your bare chest against his wonderful suit, the kisses growing more insistent, and the eyes on the back of your head which can only mean.
You scramble to push Dream-Alcor away from you, and your blush now is a thousand times worse, eclipsing human shades and glowing a wistful gold as you whip around to lock eyes with a second Alcor. The real Alcor. You stumble for words but find you have none. Definitely not any strong enough to. Apologize for whatever mess your subconscious was obviously trying to get you into. Before you can say a single word your dream breaks, and you’re waking up to the sound of a gentle morning alarm and Mira already up and moving and you think to yourself maybe I’ll just stay up for. oh. I don’t know. Forever?
I’ve yet to find a Mira dreamcast/faceclaim/headcanon/whatever-the-hell-you-want-to-call-finding-a-real-person-who-looks-like-how-you-imagine-a-fictional-character-you-invented with the right nose, but otherwise, Melanie Chandra comes pretty darn close.
So seeing as there is very little art of Mira I decided to take a stab at it. I don’t know if I captured her quite right but I tried my best. When you don’t have too much art to reference sometimes you need to take some artistic license. I hope everyone likes it!
This is the point of the week where Ian realizes that though sleep is for the weak, lack of sleep makes you weak. I think we can all understand that feeling.
Also, uh, for that one anon who wanted Ian and Mira in this, you got half the duo at least? Better than nothing?
Either way, this is the second to last picture! It’s almost Christmas!
It was late already by the time Ian made it back to the apartment; he’d had another meeting with S&P over the upcoming episode and its ‘glorification of reckless treatment of magical paraphernalia’ which had run on all afternoon, during which he’d tried (with little success) to persuade them that the reckless treatment of magical paraphernalia was a large part of Grauntie Carla’s character and the overall story arc would ultimately deal with the consequences. He was exhausted, frustrated, and ready to flop down on the couch beside his girlfriend and mercilessly mock some poor reality TV producer’s efforts.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t in the cards – the strange rumbling he’d been hearing as he turned his key in the lock turned into a frantic screech of ‘Alcor NO’ and a throaty growl as Ian tried to push the door open and a black and gold ball of shining claws and gnashing teeth slammed into it, yowling like a scalded cat and scrabbling desperately at the door as though trying to scratch through it to get at Ian; he pulled the door the rest of the way shut and locked it behind him, turning away and walking quickly back towards the elevator, already resigning himself to a long night at the studio.
Ian could not remember the last time he had slept. Twenty
six hours? Maybe it was thirty or even longer. It didn’t matter, and not just
because time was an illusion.
Not when there were more important things… people in front
of him.
Lydia Victoria Beale, all of three days old, lay asleep in her
crib. The walls were covered in animals both real and unreal, gnomes barfing
rainbows and unicorns spearing their enemies, enough protection sigils and
symbols to knock a psychic tandem war elephant out cold, and colors so wild
that only bees and art students could probably see some of them. It had taken
Ian two weeks to draw everything and another to paint, but it was worth it the
first time he had brought Mira in to see and she had begun to cry.
They had brought her home that morning, and even though it
was now morning again, Ian had been unable to sleep or wrench himself away,
transfixed now for hours by the sight of their daughter.
Her little chest moved up and down and he couldn’t move away
because what if it stopped moving? Even when his left eye traitorously shut,
the right one remained fixed open, gazing non-stop at Lydia. He had to keep
looking, he had to keep watching because what if she got hurt, what if eye bats
(eye bats?) burst through the window and turned her to stone, what if a dust
bunny drifted down from the ceiling and somehow got into her mouth and she
choked on it-
Abstractly, Ian knew he was being ridiculous. Abstractly, a
part of Ian didn’t understand the fuss over an overly fragile meatsack that
wasn’t even interesting. It (she) just lay there and cried and ate
and pooped and you couldn’t talk or trick it (her) and it (Lydia) was
just going to die and crumble to dust in a few decades anyway, irrelevant in
the course of eternity and- Ian sighed. He guarded Lydia as much from himself
as he did the dangers real and imagined he perceived around her.
This day alone he had been spat up on three times, had to change
two diapers, and was pretty sure he felt an eardrum rupture from Lydia’s cries,
and yet standing here, watching her sleep, none of it mattered. Ian loved her
more than life itself, and if keeping her safe meant never sleeping again, then
so be it.
In a minute, Mira was probably going to come in, tell him to
stop being such an idiot, and drag him back to bed. In a minute, he probably would be asleep despite his best
efforts. He was probably going to wake up hours from now to find that Mira,
even though she was as tired as him, had let him sleep in. All of that was
later however.
For now, he would stand and watch and guard and revel in the
sight of his daughter.
I had considered this as a possibility, but I’m also very attached to the idea of a small girl who understands ‘be cute and someone will want you’ but only in theory, and has learned both through natural inclination and experience that everyone leaves ANYWAY once the charm of ‘cute’ wears off, and a family, a father who recognises a kindred (cynical) spirit in her and choose her DESPITE the fact that she’s cute, and don’t buy her bullshit, but still stick around.
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